


holiday card

by Waywarder



Series: Simply Having an Ineffable Christmastime [24]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Holiday Angst, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21941425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waywarder/pseuds/Waywarder
Summary: In an earlier time: in which Aziraphale writes a card he will not send.Part of Drawlight's 31 Days of Ineffables holiday series!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Simply Having an Ineffable Christmastime [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558789
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	holiday card

_Another Christmas Eve, sometime in the Before times._

Aziraphale was drunk.

Drunk and alone.

He sighed aloud, then stood up and went to wherever the bottle of red wine had ended up. He refilled his glass, carelessly, defiantly. It is Christmas Eve, and he is alone, and he would quite like to remain drunk for a while longer. 

There is an empty Christmas card on his desk. In a fit of something like madness, he’d seen it and purchased it. He does not know if he can fill it. Heavens forbid if he can ever send it.

It has little ducks on it. Happy, little Christmas ducks. 

His heart never stood a chance.

“Fuck,” he whispers out loud. _He is fucked._ He brings the glass to his lips, swigs down the redness of it. Cabernet spills out from the corners of his mouth and trails down his chin, stains his bowtie. He does not miracle it away just yet. 

Sometimes Christmastime makes messes out of even the angels amongst us.

Aziraphale feels like a mess. He is drunk, and allowing himself-- indulging himself, rather-- to go to the scariest and loveliest place within his brilliant brain.

He drinks red wine, and he thinks of Crowley.

He thinks of all the things he would like to say to Crowley. He thinks of what he would like to do to Crowley. With Crowley. He isn’t quite certain where he would start. He blushes at the thought. Because sometimes it’s hand holding and stealing sweet kisses by the duck pond, these thoughts that roam his mind. But sometimes it’s clasped fingers and strokes and sweat and sometimes even tears, tears of joy, of sorrow, of madness, of _Can this be real? Can this be happening?_

_This isn’t happening,_ Aziraphale thinks, almost says aloud. He is close to too drunk, he knows.

He goes back to his desk. He runs his thumb over the image of the little Christmas ducks. There are two of them there together on the card. Male, female, whoever they are, whatever they call themselves… he does not know. He wishes he could ask. It does not matter. Aziraphale chooses to believe that the Christmas ducks are in love, because I think we all have moments when we just need the Christmas ducks to be in love, you know what I mean?

Aziraphale opens the card. Fumbles for a pen. Takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes for a moment.

He begins to write. His fingers tremble a little, but he will get these words down. He will let these words have some version of a life, even if it is not the one he wants for them. 

_My dearest Crowley,_

_Darling, I do not know where to begin. Only that it is Christmastime, and I am feeling rather selfish. Sitting here, and thinking so much about what I want._

_I wish I knew what you wanted for Christmas. I would do anything to find it for you._

_Do you know what I want? You are not as subtle as you think, my darling. I think you at least wonder._

_I do not want you, per se. You are not a Thing. You are not something to own. Rather, I want a world wherein we might try. Where we are free to explore these feelings, to experiment with this longing, to, if you’ll pardon the frightful expression, take this love out on the road and see where it ends up._

_It is Christmastime, and as always, I am thinking of you. Wishing that your New Year is merry and bright._

_With all the love I know,  
Aziraphale_

He closes the card. Lifts it to his lips and kisses it. He places it inside its little envelope, he runs his tongue along the envelope’s seam.

It is time. He sobers up, feels the strange sensation in his mouth, on his tongue. He checks in with himself in this undrunken state, running his hands over his waistcoat to make certain that he is really there. 

He is there, he is himself, everything he wrote was true.

Aziraphale gives a satisfied little nod to no one. He unlocks the bottommost desk drawer, and tucks the card away alongside others not unlike it. Other letters, messages, cards for various occasions… All his feelings filed away for safekeeping, kept under lock and key.

He glances out of the window, and sees that the sun is just beginning to rise. 

Christmas Day is here again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so much for reading. If it's your thing: Happy Christmas Eve! If it's not: Happy Whatever You're Getting Up To!


End file.
